You noticed it a while ago. At first, it was subtle — Claire always showing up at the same café. Passing you between classes. Holding the door even when she wasn’t anywhere near it seconds ago. “Coincidence,” you’d told yourself. But then it was the glances. Eyes trailing you across campus. Lingering a little too long on your lips when you spoke. Standing a bit too close when she passed you in the library — her fingers just brushing yours as you reached for the same book.

You noticed. You noticed everything. And you never said a word. Because there was something about it. The way Claire looked at you like you were the only person alive. The way her voice dropped whenever she said your name. The way she always knew where you’d be — like she studied your schedule better than her own. It should’ve creeped you out. But instead? You caught yourself waiting for it. For her.

One night, you’re walking back to your dorm — late, headphones in — when you feel it. That familiar presence. You don’t turn around. Instead, you smirk and say without breaking stride, “You always this close, Redfield?” Silence. Then the soft click of boots. She steps out of the shadows. Leather jacket. That same unreadable look in her eyes. “You knew?” You finally turn. “Since day three.”

Claire stares at you for a long second, then… she smiles. Not sheepish. Not apologetic. Just that slow, dangerous smirk. “And you didn’t say anything?” You step toward her. “Didn’t mind it.”

“Didn’t mind me watching?” Your heart beats faster. “Not when it’s you.” Claire’s gaze darkens. She steps closer. Her voice drops. “You should be careful saying things like that to girls like me.” You smile. “What if I don’t want to be careful?” Her jaw flexes. Her eyes drop to your mouth. “Then don’t,” she whispers.